THE SLEEPWALKER SERIES I: The Elect
by A.N. Lindale
Summary: The heart perceives experiences differently from the mind. Vampires have no souls...but they do have memories.
1. Chapter 1

**THE SLEEPWALKER SERIES**

Characters: Eric Northman, Sookie Stackhouse, Pam Swynford de Beaufort (and probably a host of others from both the books and television series)

[A/N: I originally intended to join the First Blood Contest, which is about Eric Northman's first kill. But during the process of writing, the story kept expanding. Fueled by my latest literary readings and issues plaguing the world at large, I decided to create a series with the Viking as its central character. The series theme revolves around Eric Northman and his reflections on what his immortal eyes have seen and what else remains to be experienced. This series is a history and philosophy lesson of a sort. I do hope, beyond the purpose of entertainment, it serves to educate all you readers out there. And just to give it an audiovisual push, chapter titles and chapter themes relate to actual songs existent. You'll understand better if you check out the song lyrics themselves. Enjoy reading…and listening!]

**VOLUME ONE**

_**The Elect**_

_Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live._

**Chapter One: Ava Adore**

Fangtasia had to be closed early.

And this bothered Sookie to no end even after getting a hurried explanation from a less-than-pleasant Pam over the phone. Although why she should be bothered at all evaded Sookie. After all, the existence of Fangtasia and its owners and patrons never made living her life peacefully easy. Yet, here she was, standing right outside the STAFF ONLY door that led into the vampire bar in Shreveport, Louisiana, deciding whether to knock to be let in or just go on back home.

Sookie decided the former. She knocked, remembering (not without a little regret) how Bill had knocked on the same door. It opened moments later, a weary-looking human waitress in pink overalls scrunching up her face to peer at Sookie. The Bon Temps barmaid figured the other girl had not had a wink's worth of sleep for a very long time.

"Yes?" the girl in pink asked. Sookie immediately realized this must be one of the new additions to Fangtasia's human staff and as such, did not know Sookie. She had not been to Shreveport in weeks.

"Hi, I'm Sookie Stackhouse. I'm a, er, friend of Eric Northman's…and Pam's," Sookie introduced herself, extending a hand. It probably would not hurt to be a little friendly. The girl in pink yawned; Sookie saw she had a tongue piercing…and maybe had not brushed her teeth for hours now.

"Hm, so said other fangbangers an hour before you arrived," the girl in pink said. She craned her neck backward and shouted, "D'you vamps know someone named Sookie Stackhouse? She says you're her friends!"

In a flash, Pam—dressed in a frilly pink corset and a black ultra micro-mini skirt—appeared next to the girl in pink, looking just as weary (for a vampire, that is) as her new employee. She raised her eyebrows at Sookie. "Didn't I just tell you we're closed?"

"I'm not here to partake of your bar's offerings," Sookie said defensively. "I guess I was just worried."

That statement made Pam's eyebrows go even higher. "Worried? About what?"

Sookie shifted on her feet. "Well, I don't know. It's been kind of tough for you recently. I mean, you're all vampires and strong and all that but, what happened with the Queen and, well…"

Pam sighed dramatically as she pulled the door open wider, sent the girl in pink away to wherever, and said to Sookie, "You're bumbling. You really are troubled. Get in."

So Sookie entered and ran her eyes about the interior of Fangtasia. It was generally clean, or being cleaned, by two human males and another girl, probably a waitress. No one looked up from what they were doing as Sookie and Pam walked further. A dominating black leather seat—more like a throne—at the back, fronted by a stripper's pole, stood empty. Sookie glanced at the brand new wristwatch she received as a birthday present from Sam. It was only eleven in the evening.

She turned around to face Pam, who signed several sheets of papers on a low table before looking at Sookie. Sookie could not help but admire the rhinestone-studded fuschia pink high-heeled pumps Pam was currently sporting. And the legs. Sookie thought Pam was a very pretty vampire lady on the whole. And had she swung her way, Pam could be fun. But Sookie did not swing that way. Thank God.

"All right, I'll give it to you straight, since the reason why you're being such a trouble is because you're too connected to Eric now, you probably feel even his gas."

Ah, well. Pam and her strange sense of humor. Sookie kept a straight face while Pam enlightened her.

"Eric—I can't believe I'm even saying this—is having the blues."

Sookie remained expressionless. "Blues?"

"Blues, depression, whatever you call it," Pam snapped. "Barely an hour after we opened, he ordered us to close. We had to usher out a group of Moroccan tourists who could've increased the night's profits, and a handful of our own, prematurely. I told him it was bad for the business, he just clammed up and locked himself up."

"Any idea why he's in such a grim mood?" Sookie asked.

Pam shrugged. "I did ask. He said nothing. I would have appreciated him telling me to fuck Yvetta for the thousandth time than hear his silence. Then again, filial piety, right?"

Sookie thought for a moment, then said, "Maybe something happened tonight that really bothered him, or triggered something in his memory. You said there were Moroccans here and a few vampires…"

Pam recalled the earlier events of the night and said, "Eric doesn't give a shit about the tourists that come in here. He's been to Morocco after the Crusades but that was just a phase in his vampire journeys. About the vampires—wait!" Pam gave a little frown, hand up to keep Sookie from talking.

When Pam finally lowered her hand, she told Sookie, "It turns out I don't know any of them. Though I did see Eric have some form of a heated conversation with the blonde one."

"A blonde woman?"

Pam sneered at Sookie. "Baby, you're not the only blonde pie Eric wants to get a bite of. Jealous?"

Sookie sputtered in indignation. "I am not jealous! Eric can go do anyone he pleases." Sookie petulantly crossed her arms over her chest, earning a laugh from Pam.

"Oh, Sookie! I should kill you for making me laugh. But Eric would have disemboweled me, so, rest easy. As for your worries about my master, I can't help you with those. I've already gotten too much on my hands."

"What? You mean Eric just left you here?"

Pam rolled her eyes in exasperation, fangs bared. This did not faze Sookie. "He did not leave. He's here. Just wanting some alone time in his office."

But something inside Sookie told her that was not the case. With a huff, Sookie bolted to Eric Northman's office and tried prying the door open. Pam was beside her in a minute, eyes blazing.

"Pam, open the door."

"If we burst in on him, he would have your head off…or worse!"

"But…he's not even there!"

"Oh! Now you can read vampire mind? Or, wait! Oh, fuck! This is so cheesy! Is it Eric's blood telling you that? Vampire bond blah blah blah…"

Pam pushed Sookie roughly to the side, knocked three times, called Eric's name, then knocked again. With a burst of vampire strength, Pam pushed the door open and saw that it was, indeed, empty.

"What the hell?"

She turned to look at Sookie but the blonde waitress was already gone.

* * *

_In you I feel so pretty, in you I taste God. _

_We must never be apart._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: The Unforgiven**

_Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them._

Sookie kept repeating the words in her head, reminding her so starkly of her grandmother. They may have come from a small town in Louisiana but her grandmother made sure Sookie read books to broaden her knowledge. And George Eliot was one of Grandmother's favorite authors. Sookie felt a vague, dull pain in her midsection. She imagined she had fully recovered from the loss. After all, it has been almost a year. Or more than? Sookie refused to be concerned with the day her grandmother died. That day had been the beginning of all the horrors in her life albeit the presence of Bill. Her so-called protector, ex-lover. Dark were the thoughts that swirled in Sookie's head as she drove in a hurry, though carefully, down the parishioner's road leading out of Shreveport to…

She has no idea where she's going.

The red light flashed. Sookie stepped on the brakes and mentally whipped herself. A drunk man crossed in front of her car, leered at her, then proceeded forward. Sookie took a deep breath and expelled the air from her lungs. She shook her head. "What the hell am I doing?" she asked aloud. _I don't even know where I'm going…or where Eric is._

And why should she be so bothered? Why did she care?

It's the blood talking, she said in her mind. It's only the blood talking. But Sookie felt afraid of…whatever it is. She wondered if that was what Eric was feeling at the moment. Fear. But, what did Eric fear? Well, perhaps, the Sun? Meeting a true death? Logical, yes, but so unlike Eric. If there was one thing Sookie knew well about the Nordic vampire, it was he cared for nothing and no one, unless it posed a threat to his position in the vampire hierarchy. Sookie had no idea how he treated his vampire offspring, Pam, but she knew Eric treated other vampires and humans like crap.

Even her. Especially her.

How many times had Eric betrayed her, hiding his real motives behind a mask of apparent gentility and concern for her well-being? Sookie realized she kind of hated him and his guts. Eric will just about dare anything to protect himself.

So where was she going again? She had to know, to decide. No one was crossing the road anymore and she could feel the tension of the male truck driver—no, hear him—wanting to get his trip over and done with.

The red light switched to green.

Sookie stepped on the gas pedal.

Over the course of his vampire life, Eric Northman mostly stayed by his maker, Godric's side. There were years—centuries—when they parted ways, more because of Eric's desire to see the world beyond Europe with his own eyes. Many an argument had arisen between him and Godric but always, before Godric's Spiritual Conversion, his maker gave way to his demands. Eric thought he was definitely a spoiled brat and wondered presently how Godric could have borne his mule-headedness with patience and understanding. Perhaps, even then, Godric was changing.

Its conclusion: Godric's long-awaited meeting with the sun.

There was no helping the bit of bitterness that crept upon Eric.

He did not know what happened to him in the last few hours. He was reminded of Godric all of a sudden and the feeling of loss akin to the one he felt for his human family engulfed him. He wanted to get out of Fangtasia and clear his thoughts. Thousands of years of memories and ideas, all swimming inside his head. Even a vampire can take as much.

He could not tell Pam. Pam, despite her years, was still a vampire child. She will not understand. And she could have mothered him, which Eric did not want happening.

He thought about going to Sookie's house earlier, even before Fangtasia opened for the night. She would have no choice; the power he held over her was now almost unbreakable, the bond. It will not be long before she is his. But even the thought of Sookie's delectable body in his hands did not push him to fly to her place of residence. Eric imagined this to be the bloody "blues" mortals described.

Hell, he was no human. Vampires did not have any business having such feelings. Definitely not vampires as old as he was.

So, where is he going? He knew he was well away from Shreveport now. Still in Louisiana? Eric looked about him. He had flown out of his office window in Shreveport after he realized the folly of his situation. When he thought he heard Sookie's voice inside Fangtasia, Eric knew he was possibly going insane. So, he literally flew away.

No, not Louisiana. Mississippi?

Eric landed. Wherever he was, it was far from Shreveport. He reckoned he could go farther. Much farther.

But the sun will be up in a few hours. He might as well look for a temporary shelter. Then again, as he looked around, he was nowhere. He landed in the midst of woodland, with only the light of the moon filtering through the thick foliage. There was nowhere to hide. Except…

Eric had to smile to himself. It has been a long time since he relished the feel of earth on his skin. At that moment, he applauded Bill Compton's resourcefulness. For someone who wanted to be re-assimilated into the world of the living, Bill felt no compunction burying himself in soil. Without the coffin, of course. Chuckling to himself, Eric dug into the ground and after reaching the fourth feet, he stopped, lowered himself into the hole, and buried himself.

As he closed his eyes, he made the decision.

A few days back home might be something worthwhile.

* * *

_The old man then prepares to die regretfully. That old man here is me._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Can't Change Me**

_Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die, and not be able to._

Sookie awoke with a start. She sat up, brushed the sleep from her eyes, and peered beyond the windshield.

She was confused for a moment, then realized she fell asleep inside her car…right outside a small bed and breakfast. Sookie yawned and massaged the crick in her neck. She hurriedly fixed her hair up in a ponytail, decided against checking her breath, and got out of the car. She made her way into the bed and breakfast. It looked a bit like Merlotte's, minus Arlene's red hair and Jessica's fangs. A few customers looked up at the new arrival but no one really cared. Sookie managed to block out their thoughts. She met the eyes of a waitress and motioned for a phone. The girl, maybe a few years younger than Sookie, pointed out back. Sookie went and found a payphone, then dialed Fangtasia.

It was not Pam who answered given the time of day but one of the human waitresses.

"Hi, it's Sookie Stackhouse. I know Pam's asleep but do you have any idea if Eric called…"

There was some sort of a scuffle on the other end of the line and then Pam's scratchy voice came on.

"Look, I really need to be very dead right now but I do have to talk to you. You're right. Eric is troubled. He called, or rather, I found out from a nice little guy from immigration."

"Immigration?"

"Yeah, a Fangtasia regular. I don't know how he did it with the sun up. But Eric hired vampire transport to the airport in Mississippi and flew to Europe via Anubis Air."

"Well, did your guy say where Eric was going?"

"No. The plane is due to land in Paris but from there, if he decides to go someplace else, I don't know. Eric doesn't care much for the French." There was a pause. "Going after him, Sookie?"

Sookie sighed. There was a compulsion to do as Pam said but part of Sookie told her she should let Eric be.

"No. Go to sleep, Pam. Thanks."

"Yeah." There was a click and the line went dead.

Let Eric be. Maybe this is what he needs. He may be a very old vampire but part of him and every other vampire no matter how evil, Sookie believed, retained some memory of their human selves…like feelings. And needs.

Sookie hung the phone and turned. The smell of freshly baked bread and bacon entered her nostrils. The growling of her stomach told her it needed more attention as of now than Eric Northman did.

* * *

How fitting that he would end up in Paris, his two-hundredth visit. But before French-themed memories assaulted him, he felt the pull northward, to his human birthplace. Another day and he was on Norwegian earth, the plains and fjords of Scandinavia glittering in the night. Unlike America, much of Europe remained stuck in its ancient fashion. In a way, so did his Motherland.

Eric checked himself into the only vampire hotel in Orland. The idea of vampires living among humans out in the open has not yet caught on with the present-day Viking population. Like the mountains, traditions in the north continued…and so did the dark myth of the vampire. Nevertheless, Eric could not care less what they thought. Or that no one knew he had not fed in a very long time. Or that he need not feed in the meantime.

Then, he went out, searching for that piece of windy shit-hole he willed to Pam months before.

It was no longer there.

All that was left of his father's small kingdom were the rocks by the sea, the caves, brown grass, and the wilderness. The log house no longer existed. He imagined the Romans and Gauls managed to reach their shores and destroyed what was left of his father's legacy. Eric closed his eyes and inhaled thought it was unnecessary. It was not the breeze from the North Sea he took pleasure in; it was the memory of it. And that of his father, his mother, his infant sister. His wife and his sons…

And the howl of the wolves and his mother screaming. The smell of blood had never been more disgusting than on that day. The cursed day.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

Eric looked behind him and saw what looked to be a local pointing a halogen light at him.

"Please step away from the edge, sir, or you might fall to your death!" he was warned. Eric smiled and walked toward the light, held by an old man. He looked up at Eric's impressive height and stepped back.

"Many a person has fallen down to the rocks and the sea," the man said, walking towards what looked to be a battered hay wagon. Eric expected it to be attached to a mule or a cow. Instead, it was attached to a tractor machine.

"You're not from around here. Tourist?"

"Oh, no. I was born here. Right on this spot," Eric replied, waiting to see how the old man would react.

Predictably, the old man rattled off the names of people (mostly women) who had given birth from thirty or so years ago. "Mary Villsson's boy? Olga Magnusson? No?"

"Her name was Ingvild," Eric said, looking out toward the North Sea. "My father was Fritjolf."

The old man peered up at Eric and chuckled. "How interesting! When I was a boy, my grandfather told me stories about a king who lived in Orland, before the Romans. Fritjolf the Merciful and his son, Erik Viking, the Night Hunter. Your name wouldn't be Erik, too, eh?"

His father, Merciful. Yes, perhaps. His father had been a right pain in the ass but he was a great leader of men. Erik Viking, on the other hand… Yes, he remembered a little of those days, nights. He led a militia group to aid King Ranulf of the southern borders and his army when the Roman legions advanced north from Gaul. They watched in the night and fought in the night. And on one particular occasion, Eric underestimated their enemies, earning him a mortal wound, and a fate that there was no escaping from.

Unless he decided to go the way of his maker.

"Old Man, tell me more of this Erik Viking," Eric said, suddenly wanting to know what happened when we was turned. He never went back to Orland after he met Godric, never set foot in Scandinavia, not even to bury his wife or his sons and their sons. The old man grinned toothlessly and motioned for Eric to follow him. He led the vampire to a small cottage across the dirt path leading to the sea. They went in, the old man turned on the electricity, and began bustling in the small kitchen. Eric dwarfed everything in the cottage. He remembered the walls and the feel of a busty servant girl pushed against their cold surface.

The old man came back with two mugs of something warm. He placed one near Eric. Eric took a seat on a battered couch while the old man chose a rocking chair.

"This cottage has been in my father's family for centuries, they say a thousand years. My ancestors served the kings of Orland," the old man said proudly, sipping his warm drink. "I would not wonder if I have some royal blood in me. The nobles liked taking their serving girls, such were those times."

Eric nodded. "Yes, those were the days."

"Ah! You wanted to learn more about Erik Viking? Well, Erik's not a Viking. Viking means 'seafarer', and that prince was no sailor. He wasn't even able to get out of Europe, died in the hands of the Roman legions. Who's to know? No one from his militia ever came back alive. Legend has it that he melted into the night, vanished into thin air. Stories about him scare little children."

"Is that so?" Eric felt proud of himself. Even after death, he was still popular in his hometown.

The old man nodded. "Yes, even his own children. My grandmother often told me that Erik's wife, the Queen, went mad when he did not return. She believed he had turned into a traitor and warned her own sons about their father."

Eric glared at the old man. That was something he did not know."What do you mean?"

"She was mad, not right in the head. The story spread, everyone was afraid of Erik Viking, and his ghost. Some from King Ranulf's army said they saw the prince walking under the moon, hunting like an animal. Townsfolk believed them, no one dared go out at night. No one called his name. In the end, the queen's madness overcame her and she murdered her sons."

"Her sons?"

"All of them. Or so the old ballads say," the old man replied, finishing his drink. "And so the Viking no longer hunts the enemies from Rome. He hunts his own at night. But I don't believe such stories. I'm an old man, I've fought in the war against those Nazis, and I've seen other horrors more believable."

Eric was silent for a while, then he asked, "No one survived of Fritjolf's clan?"

"Maybe. No one really cared much for history here except for the university scholars. No one knows if the ancient kings' blood still flows. Are you one of those students?"

Eric shook his head. "I am only trying to reconnect…to my roots." Which are no longer there. _Apparently, I have no branches or fruits either._

The old man sighed. "You're not the first, I believe. So many of the youth do come back, trying to see if they can remember, if the blood can remember. But mostly, they go back to where they came from with nothing. Just an imagined past."

_But mine is not imagined. Everything was real. _

There was no more conversation to be had. Eric had known with a look, a sound, a feel of the thinning veins and clotting blood. The light was fading. Within minutes, the old man was dead of a stroke. Eric remained where he was and watched death—true death—run its course. He had seen human death thousands of times before but nothing as mundane as the old man's.

Death seemed so ordinary. It was not even sad.

* * *

The trip back to Orland was fruitless. The one Eric took to Paris to catch a vampire ride back to America was not. At least not for the vampire trio waiting for him outside the airport terminal. Vampires in America are easy to spot. They have an otherworldly quality to them, it is an obvious look and feel to them.

The Parisien vampires are even less inconspicuous. They loved to flaunt their uniqueness. Movies like Underworld make for a great fashion catalogue. Pam herself had always pestered him about the Yves Saint Laurent Winter Collection. When he told her she needed no winter clothing because she was already cold, Pam thrashed his office. He realized if she was not his offspring, he would have bled her dry.

Eric knew no one from the group but they seemed to know him well enough to ambush him. Not wanting to cause any trouble for vampire immigration on French soil, Eric decided to play their game.

"Whatever it is, I'm an American now, and as such, am protected by the American Vampire League. I don't want any trouble."

A skinhead female vampire stepped forward, obviously the leader with the way her male companions stepped away to allow her passage. She had bright blue eyes and blood-red lips. There was a flush to her cheeks. She has just fed.

"We don't want any trouble either, Herr Northman," she said in an un_French_ accent. And she addressed him as any German would.

"How did you know me?" he asked. He wondered if, after the events in Mississippi, the American Vampire League and Homeland Security were tracking him. He wondered also if the Interpol was no longer above hiring vampires as secret agents.

"The Countess requires your presence in Thuringia," the skinhead vampires said, lifting a finger. Within moments, a black Humvee appeared in front of them. The rear door opened.

Eric followed her into the vehicle. When her companions were in, they sped off towards Germany.

"You must be under Iliana's employ or her offspring," Eric remarked. He did not like being ambushed or played for a fool. Iliana was the oldest vampire he knew, older than even Godric. Possibly older than even Russel Edgington. Iliana and Godric shared the same maker. She must have known he was in Europe the minute Anubis landed in Paris. And if she wanted to talk to him, there was no need to "kidnap" him and bring him to her territory.

The skinhead vampire replied, "Yes, my maker. In more ways than one."

"And would you mind sharing with me why she wants to see me now all of a sudden? If you do not know yet, your maker and I are not exactly, forgive me for my poor German, _friends._"

The female smiled. She looked almost alive. "I know you're not on good terms. This is not a kidnapping, Herr Northman, but you are free to think it so, if it makes you comfortable. However, I do not know why the Countess wishes for an audience with you."

"She must be lonely," Eric muttered, staring at the other vampire. She stared back.

"There are so few of the Ancient Ones now," she murmured.

The ride after that was a silent one. And a long one. Inside the Humvee, Eric and his female companion were able to sleep like the dead, shielded from the sun by black-tinted windows and locked doors. When Eric woke again, it was already dusk. As he got older in vampire years, it was easier for him to wake earlier, even with the sun still just about to disappear. Sometimes, when Pam was not looking, he would go out and feel the sun, even it only amounted to pain. It was a guilty pleasure.

The female vampire finally woke when the sun was gone. She looked up at Eric. He knew he somehow caught the vampire's fascination. He stared back at her and bared his fangs.

To his consternation, she laughed. "Your fangs don't intimidate me, Herr Northman. I know many things about you, things you've done, things you've thought, things you've felt."

"You must be a very good researcher," he quipped.

"I ask questions. The Countess answers. She keeps nothing from me," she said with pride in her voice. "Except who you were to her. That was one question she refused to answer."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "And now you are asking me?"

"Yes, I am."

Eric paused for a moment. Then, he replied, "I was the one who got away because she wanted to change me. She could not even if she tried."

The Humvee stopped. The door opened to darkness. Eric got out and looked around him.

After almost six hundred years, he was back inside the Black Forest.

The male vampires flanked him, the female walked in front of him. They went onward, several more steps from where the Humvee was parked and then Eric saw himself gazing up at a Medieval castle. He half-expected Vlad Dracul himself to step out and welcome him. They went up stone steps, through a set of heavy oak doors, and farther into a marble hall.

The castle was empty of life but was not empty of occupants. Other vampires watched him walk by, not before inclining their heads to the female in front. He knew none of them. Eric was led up more steps and down a hallway until finally, they stopped in front of a door. Music escaped through the cracks of the room. The female vampire knocked thrice and the door was opened by another female vampire.

The room was illuminated and decorated as any room in a medieval castle should. In the midst of the rugs, tapestries, and furniture, sat the perpetrator, bent towards a giant harp, her long, white fingers plucking at the strings.

"Leave us," she intoned, without stopping her activity. Immediately, the room was empty save for the two of them.

Eric remained standing, staring at her profile.

The woman he and Godric feared.

* * *

_She has the daylight at her command. _

_She gives the night its dreams. _

_I can see that she's trying to free me. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Change (In the House of Flies)**

He continued to watch her, wanting to take his eyes off the sight but unable to.

The Countess had to be by human and vampire standards, the most alluring female to walk the earth.

Iliana was one of the daughters of the Roman legate Sylvius, who was among the generals in the Roman legion that conquered Germania and her states. Iliana was a secret Christian through her mother's efforts, unknown to her father who retained the Old Ways of the gods. When the secret was discovered, he had his wife beheaded and Iliana plucked away from Rome to be bartered in the north. At the age of twelve she was married off to the son of a Germanic tribe across the Danube. After ten years of abuse and ten years of miscarriages, Iliana fled down the Danube and ended up in the Black Forest.

Here she met her vampire maker…a good hundred years before Godric met him.

Dark, dark hair. Tresses that curled as they cascaded to the floor. Bright green eyes. Full lips. A preference for wearing white. Disdain for trousers. And, if memory serves him right, underwear.

Legends abound in the Black Forest and the towns that bordered it, of a tall woman clothed in silverwhite, the incarnation of the goddess, who required a blood sacrifice of maidens or children for her protection. No one went near her tower (or the castle). People of the Black Forest both revered and feared her.

She was most famous for imprisoning the only daughter of a count and putting the poor maiden into eternal sleep, waiting for the curse to be broken by something called the kiss of love.

As far as facts went, Iliana saved the daughter of a count from getting raped, eventually turned the girl into a vampire, and then let her feed on her rapists.

And when the men were all dead, Iliana staked the vampire child herself.

"Iliana is the most beautiful of creatures ever to exist but she is also ruthless and will do anything in her power to keep the order," Godric told Eric a long time ago. Back then, Eric felt like a young boy again, when the bards and witches told tales of monsters and the sagas of the gods. The Countess of the Black Forest fascinated him. More so when they met for the first time six hundred years ago.

When Iliana finished her harp song, she turned her green eyes towards Eric. She was paler than normal, her eyes were red-rimmed. Iliana had not fed in a while. At her age, that meant close to a year. It was reflex that made Eric offer, "I know there's a village east of here, Emmendingen…"

But she only shook her head. "We may be inside a forest but True Blood has penetrated even the foliage."

"You haven't been feeding for a very long time, Iliana."

Iliana smiled into Eric's eyes but did not answer the unspoken question. Instead, she said, "Tonight, we shall celebrate with some of the True Blood I've been saving for a special occasion."

"Like my kidnapping, for example?"

Her smile wavered. "I had to do it or you would not see me."

"No, I would not have seen you. And you thought sending your charming daughter would do the trick."

The older vampire sighed. "You came, did you not? If I sent one of my henchmen instead, you would have resisted. Violently, as you always do. But I sent a young, pretty, female vampire and you acquiesce. See, Eric Northman, beneath the layers of dead, there still is the spark of humanity."

It was talk like this that utterly terrified Godric in those years. Although Godric said her name with almost godly deference, he also wished never to lay eyes upon her again. But that was next to impossible in the heyday of Europe. Vampires needed to gather together against the powers of the Inquisition, the witch hunts, the experiments. Godric had no choice but to find his "brothers and sisters".

Eric wasn't so much terrified as he was interested. The last person who told him he had a bit of humanity left inside him was Sookie. The same observation from two very different creatures truly was interesting.

"You are amused by something," Iliana said, rising to take a seat beside him.

Eric realized he was smiling. "A recent memory."

"A woman?"

"Perhaps."

"She is human."

"Yes."

"You will not give her the curse."

"Maybe not."

"No, you will not."

Eric looked at Iliana, taken aback that she sounded sure. Eric knew that the moment Sookie turned Bill Compton out of her life, she was as good as his. And he wanted Sookie. He will have her. Whatever it takes.

Iliana was convinced he was going to get his human the honorable way.

Thankfully, Iliana changed the subject—

"Where is Godric?"

—or not.

When Eric gave no answer, Iliana figured it out for herself.

"He finally met the Sun," she half-whispered. She began to cry in silence, blood staining her pristine white dress. "My brother is finally at peace."

Eric, if it was even possible, felt bile rise to his throat. Godric had never been a brother to Iliana when all their lives she had opposed him. She had been a jealous vampire bitch, jealous of their maker's attention. And, like Sookie, had the power to read people's minds…and their hearts. This talent she used against Godric and anyone she did not agree with. Godric admitted as much to Eric.

"Don't speak as if you knew him well, Iliana, though he was your vampire kin," Eric said acidly.

Iliana was not taken aback by Eric's sever reaction. In fact, she seemed to have expected it. "Contrary to Godric's opinion, I really, truly liked him. I just disapproved of his methods."

"You disapproved of him changing me!" Any slur on Godric sent Eric's blood boiling.

Iliana turned wizened eyes on him. "I disapproved of him changing you before you had achieved your full human potential. He plucked you out of a war that could have defined your people in the north. You were a warrior-king, Eric. And such a magnificent life wasted in eternal darkness! A bit of blood was all you needed to live. He gave you an earthly version of Hell."

"That is not Godric's concern," Eric said in defense. "He was barely an adult when he was turned."

"Godric was in the throes of mortality. To turn him was the only way to preserve the flicker of his potential. Alas! He was far too young to understand the changes in him. Youth is always complicated by pride. When Godric left the coven as an act of rebellion, I did not stop him. If I had, you would have led a happy mortal life."

"You don't know that, Iliana. No one knows what our lives could have been if we remained human."

She nodded. "We can only do with what hand had been dealt us. No one knows, indeed. As I'm certain he did not know what he could have been like if our maker let him die. Now, look what end he chose. He chose to go back to his human past."

Eric lost the will to contend with Iliana. She was grounded deep in her beliefs. No one could ever change her mind.

There was a knock on the door and a male vampire entered.

"My lady, the bath is ready for your guest."

Iliana's smile returned. "I must apologize. I haven't received guests in a very long time. I was remiss with my manners. Eric, please follow Warren to your room. I know how much you love bathing."

Eager to escape Iliana if only for a little while, Eric left the room, following after the vampire Warren. His room was well-furnished with a four-poster bed and some furniture. In the midst of the space was a wooden tub filled with steaming water. The vampire left quietly. Eric undressed and then went into the tub.

If there was one human act he would never get tired of, it was bathing. The feel of warm water on his cold skin reminded him of what the sun felt like. No one knew this, not even Sookie or Pam.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to watch other people while they're naked?" Eric muttered, his head thrown back, eyes closed. He felt movement beside the tub. And the scent of roses. Although dead.

"I never told you my name. It's Rosa."

No wonder.

"Why are you here?" he asked. He felt her dip her hand into the water, her fingers touched the skin near his navel, and then they drifted further down. He was not going to stop her.

"You…interest me," she said. She held him. Eric was near to giving up. He opened his eyes and bared his fangs.

"If you want to fuck, the tub's large enough to accommodate you as well," Eric said seductively.

Rosa laid a hand on her shiny bald head and grinned. "I don't want to fuck you, Herr Northman."

"Ouch."

"I do want to fuck your brain," she said unabashedly, removing her hand from the tub. "The Countess has been very silent about many things concerning you, Herr Northman. She most especially abhors telling me anything about the time you and her brother Godric stayed here. And she never speaks of Frankenhausen n Thuringia. Why?"

The mention of Frankenhausen made Eric feel more wary of Iliana's vampire daughter. The events in that town were also the same ones he and Godric agreed never to talk even among themselves. The bitterness of those years was almost faded in Eric's bank of memories. Apparently it was not case with Iliana.

"Your mother has reasons why she keeps some things secret," he said sagely. "And some things are best kept secret."

"That's what Emil told me," Rosa demurred, rising to her feet. "He has become too accepting and complacent in recent years."

Eric was in no mood for banter unless it was going to lead to sex. He opened his eyes and rose to his full height inside the tub, exposing his entire nakedness. When Rosa grinned, Eric grinned back.

"The water's getting cold," he said matter-of-factly.

"Is that what's bothering you, Herr Northman?" she asked tauntingly. She turned away, opened the door, and went out.

She did not close the door again.

* * *

Eric did not see Iliana until the next night. He slept inside an intricately-carved wooden coffin and awoke to dusk. He realized he was waking up earlier than before. He passed by the window of his room and saw a ghostly white figure gliding at the fringes of the _Scwarzwald_. Definitely her.

He went down the castle and met up with the two vampires who went with Rosa to "kidnap" him from the airport. The vampires were seated inside the hall and upon sensing Eric, stood at attention. Eric surmised they were former military men.

"Where is she?" Eric asked of Iliana. One shorter vampire replied, "In the forest. Breathing."

"Breathing?" Eric asked incredulously. Both vampires shrugged.

Shaking his head, Eric looked up the darkening sky and asked, "And Rosa?"

"With the Countess."

Something pricked in his memory.

"Say, which one of you is Emil? You?" he inquired of the taller, quieter one. The tall vampire, who uncannily resembled Bill Compton shook his head. The shorter one grinned, fangs out.

"Emil Olston is not one of us," the tall one deadpanned. "He's human."

"He's married…to Rosa," added the short vampire. "For sixty-seven years."

Eric's eyebrows lifted. "Is that so? Very unusual."

No other questions were asked because Rosa appeared from the shadows, face bathed in blood…or tears. In her arms she held the body of a tiny old man. The two vampires with Eric sprang forward to help her but she would not relinquish her carriage.

Without a glance at Eric, Rosa flew into the castle, followed closely by the two. Eric followed a short distance behind. The three vampires ahead of him entered a rom in one of the upper floors. Rosa placed the old man on a canopied bed and began ministering to him, speaking in a Germanic language. It sounded Swabian. Rosa continued to weep, bloodying the sheets and her charge's clothes.

The old man was still obviously alive as he reached out and touched Rosa's face with shaking gnarled fingers. Eric watched in wonder as Rosa kissed the aged skin and the old man's mouth. When Rosa continued weeping, Eric walked away. The two vampire guards were sent out of the room.

Several hours passed. Iliana had not yet returned. Eric decided to stay inside her "parlor", which was the most lavishly decorated room in the house, the same one where he first met her again yesterday. He checked out the tapestries, which were probably older than he was in human years. The rugs were definitely French, from the Renaissance.

He heard her footsteps behind him. Or rather, smelled her. Dead roses.

He turned around and Rosa was good as new.

"I apologize for what you saw," she said quietly. "I thought Emil was dying…"

Eric had nothing to say. Rosa stared at him for a few moments then said, "You must be wondering why I'm with him in the first place. Sixty-seven years and I have not changed him. But believe me when I say it was not for lack of effort on my part. A million times I have come too close to the edge…"

"Yet you resisted," Eric remarked. "Why is that? It is the reason why we leave everything that binds us to the human world. It is torture to remain."

Rosa smiled sadly. "I know. I did not want to be parted from him. If I turned him, it would have driven us apart, and that would have been enough reason to meet the sun. I love him."

Pity, real pity, kept Eric from snickering. This was new. Eric had never encountered any vampire older than a hundred years who still valued love and its abstractions. It did not exist.

"You want to know why Iliana refuses to talk about Frankenhausen?"

Rosa glanced at him sharply. "Emil's roots came from Frankenhausen…and even he is saddened by the history of his people. What happened there that the history books do not say?"

Eric sat down by the windowsill. Rosa perched on a low stool. "It is not so much as what the historians did not say but what they did not know." Eric was silent, as memories of Godric and the first time they arrived in Thuringia engulfed him.

"We, my maker and I, arrived in the upper borders of the district of Lorrach to the south in 1523. And the years after were the years the Christian god abandoned His people to bicker like dogs in a pit, watched humanity change because of what little freedom they were allowed or kept from."

"Change?" Rosa asked, intrigued. "How?"

"In here," Eric said, pointing to his temple. "And even vampires were not immune. Especially your mother."

"Are you saying she had a hand in the war in Frankenhausen?" asked Rosa, frowning.

Eric leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to remember.

"Yes, she did."

* * *

_I watched a change in you. It's like you never had wings._

_Now you feel so alive. _


End file.
